Comfort
by RepentantMonk
Summary: "When the old bury the young, a great travesty has occurred. When they die side by side, that's called war." Oneshot.


Hello everyone! As a lover of history, and Redwall, my first story is a oneshot that combines Redwall with WW2. It's my own rendition of the Battle of the Ridge of a Thousand, and showcases the gritty, heartbreaking losses associated with war. But without further ado, here you go!

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A pallid gray sky, dotted with darkening rain clouds, hung above the Earth like a somber cloak. Smoke drifted listlessly across a charred battleground, pockmarked with bombshell craters and ruts born from explosions and armored vehicles. The lifeless shells of wrecked tanks and troop carriers were strewn across the scorched ground, smoldering hulks of smashed steel left to stand the test of time in solidarity.

At the edge of a tall ridge, a small fort stood in defiance of the war-torn countryside, its once magnificent stone wall now reduced to a pile of rubble and completely gone in certain sections. Inside the bleak confines of the fallen structure, a handful of beasts were doing their very best to withstand the assault on their position.

For a week now, they had managed to fend off the Rapscallion armies march on Redwall Abbey, whose southern wall had collapsed and could not take a direct assault. And with no relief on the horizon, a final stand was imminent for the remaining defenders. The massive army of vermin had been decimated by precise airstrikes and mortar fire, and the element of surprise had been utilized with great effect, but now the overwhelming size of the enemy force was beginning to take effect.

A young mouse, barely a season past his 18th birthday, sprinted across the courtyard of the fort, stepping past the mangled, bloody bodies of his allies in an effort to make it to cover. All around him, mortars were whistling through the air before plummeting down in fiery explosions of shrapnel and death. He was pelted by fragmented debris, leaving long, bloody scratches across his matted fur. He ignored the pain, continuing his frantic dash until he reached the large, two-story compound in the center of the fort.

As he made it inside, another mortar obliterated the path just behind him, throwing his tiny frame through the opening with a massive burst of stone and mortar. The enemy mortarmen obviously had their position dialed in, and it was only a matter of time before one hit its mark.

The mouse struck a wall and dropped to the ground in a heap, his M14 rifle clattering down beside him as he briefly lost consciousness. His body was bruised and battered, and he wanted nothing more than to lay there and rest. A soft sigh escaped his chapped lips as he settled in to relax, but a burly squirrel sporting a torn, olive green utility uniform and a fierce scowl, quickly hauled the mouse up onto his feet.

"Banks, snap outta it! We got Rapscallions climbing the ridge on both sides! Get your hindquarters goin' and get up to the second floor! We need someone on the M60!" The squirrel shoved the dazed mouse toward the staircase, before disappearing into another part of the building. The mouse in question, Private Joseph Banks, stumbled up the winding staircase and onto the second floor of the compound.

The second floor was a ghost of its former self, having lost the majority of its roof to indirect fire. Rain was just beginning to fall, drenching the embattled defenders and muddying the already hazardous terrain around them. Joseph spotted the gun in question, an M60 machine gun mounted on the stone wall with a tripod, before he noticed the lifeless body of a hedgehog just behind the weapon.

He said a silent prayer as he sullenly rolled the beasts body to the side. He grabbed a spare belt of 7.62 caliber ammunition from around the hedgehog's neck, and quickly loaded the fresh rounds onto the feed tray of the M60. He peered out across the rain swept land, and noted the mass of figures steadily making their way up the steep incline that flanked the lone fort. Fear and anxiety both crept into his chest as he sucked in air, eyes growing wide at the impending onslaught coming their way.

The squirrel appeared at his side again, this time jabbing his ribs with a claw. "What are ya waitin' for? Give 'em hell!" Joseph ignored the sharp stab in his side and promptly flicked the safety switch to fire before pulling the trigger.

The gun jumped to life with a piercing staccato, spitting out hot death at a cyclic rate as Joseph clung to the weapon for dear life. He swept it from side to side, covering his entire field of vision with peppering fire as the figures in the distance melted away in an attempt to find cover. The squirrel grabbed his M14 from the ground beside him, and promptly fired off 20 rounds in quick succession, forcing the oncoming soldiers into cover with their brief assault.

Joseph's entire body shook with adrenaline as the weapon finally propelled its last round, replacing the deafening roar of automatic fire with the click of an empty receiver. In a daze, Joseph numbly began reaching for the red-hot barrel with the intent to change them out, but was quickly repelled by a hefty slap dealt by the squirrel.

"Have you lost your ever-lovin' mind, Banks? Put your weapon on safe before attemptin' to change the barrel out!" Joseph recoiled with embarrassment, but dutifully flicked the switch to safe as the sting of being corrected gave way to an appreciation for the presence of the seasoned warrior.

"Aye, sorry about that Sergeant Harrel. Honest mistake." Joseph's voice was small among the incessant explosions of mortar rounds and small arms fire erupting across the fort. With shaky paws, the young mouse retrieved the spare barrel from a canvas bag nearby, before clumsily reaching for the used barrel with his bare paw. Sergeant Harrel grabbed Joseph by the shoulder, forcing him to look up from his task and into the wrinkled face of the squirrel.

"Easy there, Banks. No need to rush an' burn yourself. Watch me." Joseph stepped back and watched Sergeant Harrel remove a piece of cloth from his cargo pocket, which he used to promptly remove the barrel and install the new one. The young mouse watched in awe as the process was done in about 15 seconds, a feat he never would have managed.

"Now go fetch a new belt of ammo from the crates downstairs. I'll keep watch up here." Joseph nodded mutely and quickly turned toward the staircase, but his progress was halted when a mortar round exploded directly over the stairs, shattering the mouse's body in an inferno of shrapnel and fire.

The detonation blasted a hole in the crumbling structure, and peppered Sergeant Harrel with a shower of stone and dust. His ears were ringing, and his mind was muddied as he coughed and struggled to his feet. As the area cleared, his eyes fell on the broken body of Joseph, and the squirrel threw himself to cover his allies dying body as another mortar rocked the building.

Sergeant Harrel pulled out his first aid kit, even though he was certain it would only be a superficial effort given the extent of his wounds. Joseph's face was bloodied and bruised, and his entire left arm had been blown off at the elbow. Bits of shrapnel were embedded across his entire body, and both his legs had been broken and lay at odd angles. His stomach was pierced, and his intestines were spilling out of the wound in bloody strands of gore. The young mouse was barely conscious, and aside from a slight groan emanating from his throat, he was unresponsive.

Although he was a combat hardened warrior, and had seen his fair share of death, Sergeant Harrel was unaccustomed to seeing such a young beast on the verge of venturing to the Dark Forest. His eyes grew cloudy with tears as he rapidly wrapped Joseph's missing arm with gauze, before enclosing the stump of a limb with multiple layers of cloth.

His hands shook as he worked, and tears were now openly falling down his graying muzzle. "Come on Banks, don't give up on me! We've worked far too hard defending the Abbey to give up now." His voice quivered as he spoke, willing the young mouse to rise from his position and resume fighting. But deep down, Sergeant Harrel knew that would not be the case.

He slammed his fist on the cold stone underpaw, growling in frustration as he watched the mouse fading from existence. A pool of blood had formed beneath Joseph, and was staining the trousers of the squirrel with its murky essence.

Why did I send him? I should have gone downstairs instead!

The sound of small arms fire was drawing closer, and Sergeant Harrel realized that it had been a while since they had stopped firing the M60. He took a quick glance at the encroaching force, which had crested the ridge and was now pushing through the exterior of the fort. His heart dropped instantly, as the realization of their unavoidable situation came crashing down on his conscience.

He sighed and made the motion of a cross on his chest before grabbing the paw of the heavily wounded mouse in solidarity. "I know ya can't hear me now, mouse. But you did damn good. We were sent here to stall them, and I'll be damned if anyone says we failed."

"I'm sorry you had to go this way, Banks. If I could, I'd trade positions with ya. But rest easy knowing we did our best." He leaned down and closed the mouse's listless eyes with a reverent paw, before gently kissing his forehead. He recited a quick prayer over the dead mouse, before returning to business at hand.

Sergeant Harrel turned to the corner of the room, where a PRC-25 radio sat among the rubble of a wooden table. The device was still intact, and the black handset was dangling from its connector on the top of the radio. He crossed the room and feverishly began inputting the frequency he needed to connect with nearby air support. Once finished, he snatched up the handset and shoved it against his face.

"Command Post, this is Echo Five Hotel, callin' for broken arrow. We are being overrun, and I say again, broken arrow! Over." The static returned as he awaited a reply from headquarters, which while only taking three seconds, felt like an eternity.

"Echo Five Hotel, this is Oscar Six November. Did you just call in broken arrow? Over." Sergeant Harrel growled with frustration as rounds began exploding around him, covering the weary squirrel in more dust. He dropped to the prone in an instant, and quickly replied to the call for confirmation.

"Oscar Six November, this is Echo Five Hotel. Yes sir, that is correct. Our position is overrun, and they're all around us. Broken arrow! Over." He crawled closer to the wall where his M14 lay, dragging the radio with him as he quickly loaded another clip of ammunition into the rifle. He peeked over the top of the stone wall and took a few quick shots at the encroaching vermin, who were now about fifty yards from the squirrel's position. They dove for cover and promptly returned fire, forcing Sergeant Harrel back into cover.

"Copy that Echo Five Hotel, support is on the way. Hold tight. Over and out." The reply was curt, and Sergeant Harrel's gut warmed considerably as he realized the fight was almost over. He let a tiny smile stretch across his weary face, and crawled over to lay beside Joseph's body and await the oncoming airstrike.

"We made it, bud. Those vermin aren't gonna win today, nope. I'll see ya at the gates of the Dark Forest, kid." With that, Sergeant Harrel propped himself up on his elbows, rifle trained on the ruined staircase as he counted the seconds until he would be free.

He thought he could hear the faint buzzing of multiple fixed-wing aircraft in the distance, but combined with the almost constant barrage of mortars and small arms fire, he could have rightly been hearing things.

The wall overhead was still absorbing a variety of rounds, and he had almost grown accustomed to the sound of bullets ripping into stone. But as the seconds turned to minutes, his anxiety began to take hold as his finger hovered over the trigger of his M14.

Just then, the ugly, sneering face of a rat came into his view from the stairwell. The mottled black and gray creature was gingerly stepping over fallen stones when he noticed the awaiting squirrel. The sneer turned to shock as Sergeant Harrel pulled the trigger, blasting a hole in the rat's chest and knocking him back down the stairs in a lifeless mass.

The squirrel sighed, trying to calm his shaking hands as he trained his rifle sights on the opening to await the next beast. But after the rat had died so suddenly, they were unwilling to walk into their deaths so easily. A small, elongated cylinder was tossed through the opening at the head of the stairs, skidding across the ground until it struck the wall behind Sergeant Harrel.

He only had a moment to register the appearance of the grenade, before the explosion rocked his weary frame, breaking both his legs with the concussive force and peppering his body with shrapnel. He briefly lost consciousness as the pain pushed him to the edge, but once the adrenaline took hold, he blinked himself back into reality. He was still lying beside the body of Joseph, and judging by the massive amount of blood pooled on the floor between them, he would likely be dead from his wounds in the next few minutes.

A lanky, nasty looking ferret was the first one to make it to the top of the stairwell after the use of the grenade. He grinned in excitement as he saw the two figures laying in a pool of blood on the ground. He called back to the rest of his squad to let them know it was clear, before kicking the rifle out of Sergeant Harrel's trembling hands.

The squirrel spat weakly at the ferret, which earned him a kick to the face. He was fading in and out of consciousness, and the blood gushing from his broken nose was pushing him closer to the gates of the Black Forest. The rest of the vermin squad assembled at the top of the staircase, and upon seeing the state of the two good beasts on the ground, took the time to light cigarettes and celebrate their victory.

Sergeant Harrel was about to close his eyes, when the distinct drone of multiple fixed-wing aircraft reached his ears. He was certain he had not heard it this time, and the excitement of their impending doom gave him the energy to hold on for a few more moments. He spat out a broken molar, allowing a stream of blood to cover his chin as he grinned at the vermin soldiers.

"You lose."

With that, he used his remaining strength to reach out and grab Joseph's lifeless paw before the world around him turned black one final time.


End file.
